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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28609533">Interlude: Minerva drinks because She Knows Things</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scree_Kat/pseuds/Scree_Kat'>Scree_Kat</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Ineffable Parenthood [17]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, How Minerva Knows More Than She's Meant To</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 08:48:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,552</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28609533</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scree_Kat/pseuds/Scree_Kat</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Minerva becomes privvy to things she would rather prefer not knowing.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Ineffable Parenthood [17]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1429525</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>184</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/YoursG/gifts">YoursG</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>YoursG pointed out a potential plot hole in An Irate Tabby Cat, so I hope this clears up any confusion!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>NOVEMBER 1, 1981</p><p> </p><p>Minerva, in her feline form, had been perched on the fence all day.</p><p>Typically, if she were to be found in such a position, it would be after the school year was finished with, or at least during school holidays.<br/>
Typically, she would be safe in the wizarding world, rather than out in the open where a lapse of concentration could see her revealing the existence of magic to muggles.<br/>
Typically, she would be relaxing and enjoying the sun in the most comfortable place she could find.<br/>
This wasn't fun, of course. Nor was it relaxing or enjoyable. The fence was uncomfortable, the sort designed to keep chatty neighbours and cats from lingering long, and far too easily seen for her tastes. Anyone could see her, and if the worst happened...</p><p>No, she wouldn't think like that.</p><p>With only meagre and occasional shards of sunlight to keep her warm, she'd done a circuit of the rather bland garden. And the rather bland neighbourhood. There were no other places in or around the home that would allow her a decent view of what was happening. There was nothing for it, though such matters made her feel in no way less uneasy in her vigil.</p><p>She could, probably should, be off celebrating. Merlin knew everybody else seemed to be. But though she had smiled the obligatory smiles, voiced the required relief, the idea of celebrating left her feeling queasy. Guilty. She had heard the rumours, of course, even if she tried her damndest not to think upon them. She wasn't sure if cats could cry, but by Merlin, she had no intention of finding out. Not while surrounded by muggles. She wouldn't be vulnerable, wouldn't let her emotions stop her from doing her duty.</p><p>Was it, really, her duty to be here, though?</p><p>Her mind couldn't help but return to the whispers she'd heard, the way you can't help but press upon a sore tooth with your tongue to check that it is still, in fact, sore, and had not opted instead to miraculously repair itself. Those rumours had driven her from her trip to Hogsmeade, left her rushing to the last place she wanted to be. Why else would she be <em>here</em>?</p><p>She didn't like the Dusley's, certainly didn't owe them a damned thing. Petunia Evans had always treated her sister cruelly, and age had only made her worse. It had been Minerva, not James, or Remus, that Lily had confided in whenever her sister's mockery couldn't be shaken off easily, when Lily was devastated but always, always seeking a way to mend the broken relationship. It was Minerva who had soothed and reassured the young woman that even if her sister were jealous, so jealous she could throw away a relationship with Lily because of it, her parents always adored her. Her friends still adored her.</p><p>It had been Minerva, not James, to comfort Lily when she'd gone to warn her sister- her last remaining family- about the brewing war, breaking far too many laws in the process. She hadn't expected much, certainly not gratitude, but for Petunia to shout 'I hope you die' and kick her out of the house hadn't been something she'd expected (even though, secretly, Minerva rather thought the girl <em>should</em> have expected it, given the givens). Lily hadn't dared tell James, of course, even knowing he'd be proud of her for breaking the rules. Merlin knew he and the rest of the Marauders were more than likely to take their efforts at revenge too far given the opportunity. It wasn't only James who couldn't stand to see Lily cry. </p><p>For all Minerva's experience, and poise, even she wanted to storm inside and hex the bitch. Every time Petunia's beady gaze peered from the curtains to glare at the cat on the fence, Minerva's hackles raised. If the Death Eaters found them, it wasn't like it would be a tremendous loss, all things considered. Petunia was as cruel as her rather lardy husband (who'd dared to try and chase her away as he walked to his car. The absolute cheek of the man!) and Merlin knew the child would inevitably be raised to be just as horrible. Sooner or later, that boy would become utterly insufferable.</p><p>But the child?</p><p>He was too young to be anything, not yet. The child was Harry's age. Utterly innocent in the whole mess. And even though Lily had never gotten to meet her nephew, never even managed to learn his name, she had loved him dearly none the less. Lily would want him protected, and by Merlin, Minerva would try.</p><p>She hadn't been able to save Harry, Lily or James. She would damned well save this child.</p><p>There were still Death Eaters free, after all. Her nephew, barely two years of Auror duties under his belt, had sent his patronus to warn her to be careful in the celebrations- just because the war was officially over did not for a moment mean that the people who'd been so gleefully murderous would behave rationally in their defeat. And they would, as ever, love to sow carnage and fear. Killing a Hogwarts teacher? Let alone one of Dumbledore's most trusted?</p><p>It would be a hell of a victory. Even now. Perhaps especially now. </p><p>So Minerva sat, and waited, her gaze shifting from the house to the street, constantly seeking out threats. And she continued to stand guard even when Vernon Dursley returned home and tried to hit her with his newspaper- she rather enjoyed giving him a set of nasty gashes on his hand for the effort, and took a vindictive kind of amusement in watching him squeal like a particularly hairy pig and run backwards into his house as though worried she would give chase. She stood guard as she listened to him rant to his wife about the damned vicious cat in the yard so loudly his son squawked into wakefulness (she doubted the child's actual name was 'duddikins', though she couldn't be certain, not with these people). She stood guard when her nephew's patronus arrived, again, to tell her that the rumours were true, forgetting how to breathe and feeling her animagus form waver in her distress.</p><p>She stood guard as night sauntered into Privet Drive, and as the lights in the houses gradually faded away. Only then did Minerva allow herself to learn whether cats could cry.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She had hoped that sooner or later, Albus would show up, though she wasn't fool enough to assume his reasonings would mirror her own. Merlin knew she respected Albus Dumbledore immensely. But she wasn't blind to the sort of emotional sacrifices needed to win a war, let alone lead a resistance movement. Settling in to watch a group of, frankly, terrible people wouldn't -and couldn't- rate high on his list of priorities, no matter how beloved Lily herself had been. Not while there were Death Eaters freely roaming the countryside. Not when the risk of one final attack must be immense. Watching the street lamp lights seem to race towards a tall and distant figure, she spared herself a moment of pride that she'd guessed correctly (pointedly ignoring the niggling, if finally receding, doubt that perhaps he wouldn't even know the Dursley's existed), watching as he meandered down the street far more calmly than should be possible.</p><p>James and Lily were <em>dead</em>. Last she had heard, Harry was missing, presumed dead. </p><p>Two of the brightest souls she had ever known were gone. Their son, at best, had been orphaned. And Albus Dumbledore, the man who had encouraged the Potters to fight, seemed as unbothered as he'd be if a quidditch team he didn't care about had lost their match. Unease shifted her fur like a particularly icy breeze. She hadn't expected Albus to be weeping, of course. He was, for all intents and purposes, the leader in the fight against Voldemort. He couldn't be seen to be broken, not when the world was watching.</p><p>The world, in this moment, was not watching. Merlin's beard, though even <em>she</em> needed to control herself, to keep her emotions to herself, she'd had to hide herself from the muggles for a spot of weeping more than once! But there was nothing in his countenance to make her think he was in any way bothered by their loss. He looked two steps from whistling a jaunty tune!</p><p>At least, not until he noticed the rather familiar cat watching him. Oh, there was nothing in his expression beyond a flickering of recognition, but in that moment, his posture slumped. He rubbed his hand under his nose as though he'd spent hours sniffling. </p><p>Human beings, whether magical or muggle, displayed a range of symptoms that showed they were upset, or that they had been crying. She had been teaching- and fighting- long enough to know them all by heart. Albus Dumbledore was not showing a single sign of <em>actual</em> sadness. </p><p>
  <em>Don't be cruel, Minnie. He's probably still in shock. The poor man's had to be numb for so long, it's bound to take a while for him to start showing his emotions again.</em>
</p><p>He offered her a sad sort of a smile. </p><p>'Good evening, Professor McGonagall.' Knowing better than to ignore the rather clear request for conversation, she resumed her human form. 'Might I ask what you're doing here?'</p><p>'Lily would have wanted her nephew protected. Oh, Albus... is it true?' She knew it was, of course. Arran had told her himself. But still, the primal, devastated part of herself hoped that maybe, just maybe, Arran had been wrong. Had gotten the address wrong, or the identification.</p><p>That Dumbledore, a man who had worked such miracles in the past, might just have one more up his sleeve. </p><p>'I am sorry, Minerva. James and Lily are dead.'</p><p>'And what of Harry?' Her heart thundered in her chest, quick as the colt her father had let her ride as a girl, and twice as temperamental. </p><p>'Fine, fine. The boy is safe.' Oh, thank Merlin. Thank anyone and everyone, she wasn't picky. She allowed herself to bask in the joy of knowing at least Harry was safe, until the rather obvious elephant in the room began demanding her attention.</p><p>'The aurors are still searching for him.' Arran would have told her Harry had been found. He would never keep such information from her, not knowing how much she had adored Lily, how often she'd seen the girl as her own, honourary daughter.</p><p>She had been tempted to join the search, of course. But then, Arran had been clear that the hunt for Harry was as vital as the one for the Death Eaters- every Auror in the country was on duty, with more on the way from the rest of Europe. And with everyone so focused on Harry, the Dursley boy was left vulnerable. She'd spent the day desperately trying to think of spells to hide the house and its inhabitants from the Death Eaters, wondered if Albus would have some ideas on how best to see it done. </p><p>'That is highly classified information, Minerva.' She barely hid her wince at the slight but no less menacing growl in Albus's tone. Albus didn't know about her sister- nobody did. After all, it wasn't as though the magical world gave even half a damn about a squib. But Arran had magic- and besides, he had his father's name, not his mothers- and he'd done Ravenclaw proud, no matter how hard she'd hoped he'd be in Gryffindor, where she could look out for him more easily. </p><p>She forced her voice to be haughty as Narcissa Malfoy at her most smug. 'And you are not the only one with contacts throughout the Ministry, Albus.' He quirked an eyebrow, utterly unimpressed, and Minerva felt the sudden mad urge to tell him about Arran, about her other contacts. Anything to wipe that almost mistrusting look from his face. She couldn't remember him ever looking at her like that, like she was a threat... like she was <em>an enemy. </em>Instead, she softened her tone, smiling gently. 'It's as you've always said- it's best there are multiple avenues to solve potential problems, and best that nobody within the Order has full knowledge of every contact and ally.' For a moment, he simply stared at her, studying her the way he'd studied Severus sometimes in his first few months of teaching- as though he were trying to solve a particularly vexing problem. <em><em>Had the war been so hard on him he'd forgotten he could trust his friends?</em></em></p><p>No. He, of all people, could never. It was far more likely somebody had been trying to impersonate him. Her expression darkened, and she moved to grab her wand from its holster as subtly as possible. 'Tell me, Albus: what is the code word?'</p><p>His mouth fell open, only for a moment, and she fought the urge to remind him he'd catch flies like that. This wasn't the time for familiarity. 'You don't believe I am who I say I am, Minerva?' He sounded hurt at the accusation, and guilt curled and curdled uncomfortably in her gut at the sound.</p><p>'I believe you would never look at me as though unsure if I was trustworthy. So, yes, in this moment, there is doubt. What is the code word?'</p><p>'There is no code word, Minerva, as you well know. No, instead, there is a phrase: the sherbet lemons are mouldy and the dungeon toilets are blocked. A rather long winded phrase, granted, and the visual imagery leaves a lot to be desired, but needs must. Now, are you satisfied?'</p><p>'I am.'</p><p>'Good.' There was a niggling in the back of her mind, instinct waving its hands about madly, desperate for attention, desperate for her to understand something she simply could not comprehend, and it was very much at war with the part of her desperate to resolve things with Albus. It would take months before the penny finally dropped: with the war barely over, why on earth would Albus be irritated that she followed the most basic of safety protocols? (It would take far, far longer for her to question how he could shift from utterly blank to emotional enough to leave her feeling guilty, let alone how he could seem more upset at the idea of having to prove himself than at having lost two of his alleged favourite former students.)</p><p>That niggling became a full, shouting tantrum for attention as he outlined his plan. He couldn't possibly be serious? There had been some ridiculous plans put in place during the war, granted, but this?</p><p>This was sheer and utter madness. Worse than when they tried to thin the Death Eater army down with cursed pudding. Or the month where Sirius and James began hitting Death Eaters with a quacking curse, because you can't cast an unforgiveable in quacks and they'd thought Lucius Malfoy's enraged quacking particularly hilarious. </p><p>'You can't leave him here, Albus. These... <em>people</em> are the worst sort of muggles imaginable! They cannot be trusted with Harry!'</p><p>'They can and they will, Minerva. I'm sorry, but it has been decided.'</p><p>'Not by the Ministry!'</p><p>His voice dropped to the low, menacing sort of snarl he typically reserved for battles with Voldemort, and Minerva felt herself stepping back and away, before forcing herself to stand her ground. 'And how trustworthy <em>is </em>the Ministry, Minerva? Can you honestly say that all of your friends in the Ministry are truly on your side? They are about to be overrun with trials, granted, but we have known for far too long that there are spies within the Ministry's ranks. Can you truly trust they'll all have been found? If I put him in the system the way you're asking me to, anyone with high enough clearance can access-or be compelled to access- his records. They would know where he was in an instant. Perhaps you'd be happy to hope for the best, but I'm certainly not.'</p><p>If she were still in feline form, her hackles would be well and truly raised. She hissed out a soft, enraged breath. 'He'll be miserable.'</p><p>'He'll be alive!'</p><p>'If alive is all you care about, I'll resign and raise him. I have savings enough to see him raised well.'</p><p>Albus Dumbledore scoffed, rolling his eyes behind his half-moon spectacles before settling on the sort of look best left to mothers trying to explain to their child -again- why jumping off the roof was a terrible idea. 'You are <em>hardly</em> mother material, Minerva. I know you mean well, but the boy needs normalcy, he needs stability and affection and numerous things you are, unfortunately, ill equipped to provide.' He eyed her the way he eyed the students they'd had to inform about a parent's death- sad and sorry sympathy, a shaking of his head like he wished nothing more than to never have to say such a thing.</p><p>She rather wished he'd never said such a thing. Because sure, she was hardly Molly Weasley- she'd never run across an active battlefield to hug somebody, or stay out of the fighting to prep dinner for the survivors like Edwina would. And sure, she'd never fallen to baby talk in her life and doubtless never actually could, but that couldn't be all all that made a mother <em>good</em>? She cared for her students. Loved them. Wanted the best for them- she went above and beyond for each and every student, Gryffindor or not. Merlin's beard, she was willing to give up her career- the most important thing left in her life- to protect a child she'd only met the once. That he could see nothing of value in her parenting, especially when she saw what passed for parenting in the Dursley household? </p><p>It hurt. Far more than she'd expected. </p><p>'I'm sorry, Minerva, but there are no other options available to us that will keep Harry safe. I know you care for the boy, I do as well. But right now, we have to care enough for him that we can look past our own wants to focus on his needs. Can you do that for me?'</p><p>'Of course, Albus.'</p><p>She wasn't entirely sure how he talked her into leaving before she saw Harry. It would take her years, until the very moment Albus announced Harry missing, for her to realise just how foolish she was to walk away. </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was odd, of course, to use the plays that should not, strictly, need to be used. And yet, Minerva found herself taking extra precautions, checking herself over and over for any sort of tracker, and even so, still wandering the streets for an hour, veering almost drunkenly from direction to direction using both magical and mundane means, circling and zig-zagging through London before the scheduled meeting.</p><p>Just in case. </p><p>Arran stood in the mouth of the alleyway, his typical auror uniform replaced by dark, worn in muggle jeans and a plain black tee shirt. Though on the surface, he seemed bored and unbothered as he watched the lessening crowds of passers by, Minerva had known Arran since his birth. She knew what it looked like when her nephew was trying to appear anything but wary and ready for battle. Exhausted, too, and she felt a stab of remorse for dragging him from his bed given he'd been searching for Harry all damned day. A final glance around, and she strode into the darkness beside him, feeling him grab her roughly and apparate them away to the middle of nowhere. </p><p>Northcote cemetery. Fitting, given his father was buried here, forgotten by the world and utterly unknown to the magical community. She hadn't been here since the funeral, hadn't had time, wondered if there would be time to conjure some flowers, to tidy the grave. </p><p>Probably not. <em>Well, he'd always been a bit of a bastard, anyway. </em></p><p>'What's the code?' His voice was stern, wand raised and pointed unflinching towards her heart, expression carefully blank. She didn't bother drawing her own wand, not yet. If he was an imposter, well... she was still a faster draw than most. </p><p>'There is haggis in the ewe's shoe.' She raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms and waiting for him to finish the phrase.</p><p>'And gravy in her garters.' He grinned despite himself at the absurd ritual. 'I guess at least nobody'd guess that shit.' That had, of course, been the point. Well, at least, on the surface. But the war had been hard, and it had been an age since she'd seen Arran actually smile, let alone laugh. She couldn't help herself. If saying something foolish was the cost of his smile, she'd say the most ridiculous nonsense she could think of. </p><p>No matter how much she wished otherwise, those glimmers of amusement were short lived, and the smile dropped back into a wariness that seemed to radiate outwards like a chill in the already icy air. 'Aunty, what the hell's going on?' She hadn't expected small talk, certainly, but the lack of even a quick <em>hello </em>was jarring. Merlin, but she missed the days they'd settle in place together in an overstuffed chair and read, when greetings came with hugs, not harried apparition and code words.</p><p>The war was over. Surely there was time enough for a hug?</p><p>
  <em>Soon, Minnie. Things will be better soon.</em>
</p><p>'I know where Harry Potter is.' He froze, eyes the sort of wide that spoke libraries of hope and panic, all in a language she felt ill-equipped to read. </p><p>'What's going on?' Merlin, but she wished she knew. So instead, she shrugged helplessly, rallying a response at the sight of his deeply unimpressed scowl. He'd give even Severus a run for his money.</p><p>'Albus has found him, had him moved. He's planning to hide Harry's location from the Ministry, says there's still too great a risk of spies in the ranks.' Arran strode from her, muttering a string of words she should probably chide him for, running a hand roughly through his hair as though itching to rip a hunk from his head in frustration. </p><p>'How long as he had him?'</p><p>'Hours, at least.'</p><p>'HE LEFT US SEARCHING FOR HOURS WHEN HE KNEW? HE FUCKING KNEW?' He scrunched his eyes closed as tightly as the fists clenched at his sides, seemed to force air resentfully in and out until he could reel in his temper, at least enough to stop the yelling. Still, it wasn't like he didn't have a damned good point. 'You're telling me that Albus Dumbledore knows the location of the kid we've got half the European aurors searching for... and he doesn't think the aurors should be alerted? That it'd be nice to know we're not looking for a child's fucking corpse left as a final 'fuck you' to him and his fucking Order? That we'll be wasting resources looking for a child needlessly right when those resources are urgently needed elsewhere?'</p><p>'I know, Arran. Why do you think I'm telling you? I'll talk to him in the morning, try and convince him to alert the Ministry without divulging details- he could say the house is under a Fidelius or something. Nobody could complain, surely, especially given the risk of traitors still needing to be addressed. He's Supreme Mugwump, there'll be a loophole somewhere he could exploit.'</p><p>'Merlin knows if there isn't he'll have one snuck into the books soon enough.' She wanted to say something in defense of Albus- he was a good man, after all, but despite the tone and the obvious dislike for his former Headmaster, Arran had a point. Albus was rather good at getting himself out of trouble as required. </p><p>So instead, she decided distraction was the better part of valor. 'How's the investigation coming along?'</p><p>'The Department of Mysteries sent a temporal expert.' She must not have hidden her confusion well enough, as he shot her an amused grin. 'They've got time turners that can take you back in time without the ability to interact with the world. Good for murder cases, though not something that can be done often, given the effects on the user. It's not pretty, and the average person can use it maybe three times without breaking their own brains in the process. Given that you can destroy yourself on your first use, there's not a lot of volunteers for the program. Pretty sure it's on its last legs at this point.'</p><p>And that was something Minerva really, really didn't want to think about. 'What'd they see?'</p><p>He sighed, moving to sit on a headstone, seemingly oblivious to the rudeness of the gesture. 'Mostly, it tracked with our guesses: the house is attacked, James told Lily to go upstairs, get Harry and run. He put up a damn good fight, but against Voldemort? It was never going to be enough. Lily made it to Harry's cradle, was throwing spells about to make sure they could apparate- they couldn't- or floo or use portkeys- also impossible for her. She was trying to figure out how to get Harry safely out the window and away when Voldemort arrived.'</p><p>She flinched, wished she hadn't asked so foolish a question. They saw Lily die, saw James die, and all the wishing and hoping wouldn't make their deaths any more merciful and any less needless and tragic. </p><p>'Here's where it gets weird, though. We thought he was targeting them, right? But he was strictly after the kid.'</p><p>'He wanted Harry?'</p><p>'He offered to let Lily live if she stepped aside, let him kill Harry.; He groaned. 'Why the hell would he care about a kid? No offense to the Potters, but it's not like they're a merging of old, powerful bloodlines- I could almost understand it if keeping Harry'd boost his power later on, but he's already got more than enough powerful bloodlines in his ranks, why keep a halfblood? If he was meant for a ritual, Harry'd have been taken alive- it's one of the reasons we were so worried about him. But it begs the question: what's so important about Harry bloody Potter that both sides of the war are focused on him?'</p><p>Minerva shrugged, frantically examining her memories of the boy, her conversations with Lily for something, anything, of use. 'He's just a baby...'</p><p>'Aye, and yet, with Dumbledore snatching him before anyone else could and refusing to even admit the kid's alive, there are a lot of questions needing answers about why this kid is so important to both causes.' She nodded. 'For what it's worth Aunty, Lily refused the offer. Though I'm sure she knew Voldemort was lying- why the hell would he let her live? Lily was a hell of a threat to his efforts- she refused to allow, let alone watch, Harry die. She wouldn't move out of the way. Her death was quick, an avada. But when Voldemort tried to do the same to Harry, the curse rebounded back onto him instead.' She hadn't realised she was crying until she felt Arran's arms wrap tightly around her, allowed herself a moment to bury her head against his shoulder and mourn the bright, loving girl she'd adored. </p><p>'I'm so sorry, Aunty.'</p><p>So was she. </p>
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